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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29707533">Ubba is dead</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineandwittie/pseuds/fineandwittie'>fineandwittie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last Kingdom (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Episode Fix-it, M/M, S1 E5, Young Odda can jump in a lake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:20:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,693</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29707533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineandwittie/pseuds/fineandwittie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What would have happened if Alfred had just examined the situation a tiny bit better or ask Leofric to verify the news that Young Odda brought with Ubba's sword.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alfred the Great/Uhtred of Bebbanburg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ubba is dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Always unbeta'd and usually unproofread. Apologies.</p><p>I'm drowning in these two guys. HaLp.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ubba is dead. His army is defeated.” Young Odda said, with twisting mouth and burning eyes.</p><p>“Is this true?” Alfred sought out Leofric in the crowd. “Leofric, is this true? The Young Odda has killed Ubba?”</p><p>Leofric shifted in his saddle and carefully did not look at Young Odda. “Ubba <i>is</i> dead, Lord.”</p><p>Alfred frowned at Leofric’s wording, glancing down at the bloody axe in his hand. Not gore-stained enough to have been used in a proper battle, but certainly enough for single combat, but Young Odda wasn’t fool enough to engage in single combat with Ubba. He looked up again. Young Odda didn’t appear at all wounded either, no visible sign of the damage the blade would have done to produce this blood.</p><p>“And who killed him?” He looked at Leofric, but the man did not speak. </p><p>Young Odda shifted on his feet, drawing Alfred’s attention. “You have the axe of Ubba. Is that not proof enough, Lord?”</p><p>Alfred narrowed his eyes. “Young Odda, remember to whom it is that you speak. Now, answer me directly. Who killed Ubba?”</p><p>The Young Odda scowled, his thin lips pressed tight. </p><p>Alfred turned to Leofric again. The man sighed and dropped his gaze to his horse. “Uhtred, Lord. Uhtred killed Ubba in single combat, after he’d burned Ubba’s fleet to the waterline.”</p><p>The words took Alfred’s breath. He stared for Leofric for a moment, lips parted and blood roaring in his head. “Uhtred Ragnarson is alive?”</p><p>The man nodded. “Very much so, Lord.”</p><p>“And where is he now? Why did he not ride out to give us this news directly?” A frantic, pulsing thing was growing inside Alfred’s chest. A tangle of so many things: of hope and relief and guilt and fear all mixed in with some burning longing that Alfred could neither identify nor understand.</p><p>“He has gone to Lord Odda’s home, to retrieve his wife and meet his son, Lord.”</p><p>Alfred frowned, momentarily distracted from his own surging emotions. “Why were they with Lord Odda?”</p><p>“Brought there for safety, Lord, in case the war passed through Cochham.”</p><p>“Well,” Alfred said, trying to wrestle himself back into some semblance of normalcy. “I am sure he will join us presently or else we shall meet him at Winchester to congratulate him on his roll in saving Wessex.” He took a breath and turned back to Young Odda, who was still scowling. “I thank you for bringing this to me in Uhtred’s stead and for bearing glad tidings.” He leaned in and smiled. “And if you ever lie to me again, you shall not find me so forgiving.”</p><p>He left them to settle in with the rest of the camp, to get food and drink as it pleased them. He had more important things to worry about. His hands trembled against the blade and handle of the axe. Sweat prickled the back of his neck and beneath his arms. </p><p>He wanted to scream. He wanted take this axe and sink it deep into someone’s head, to cleave them in two and watch their blood splatter out. He wanted lay down upon his front in the field beyond the camp and weep until he had no more tears to give. </p><p>He wanted Uhtred in front of him, so that he could look the man in the eye and smile at him. </p><p>He had been convinced that Uhtred had died at the fortress. The Beacon had been lit nearly a month ago now and there had been no sign of Uhtred anywhere. He’d sent men, few and sworn to secrecy, to scout for him in case he had been injured in his escape, but they’d come back empty handed. </p><p>It seemed now that all the worry had been in vain. Or…perhaps not. </p><p>The thought brought Alfred up short and he slowed to a stop, just inside his tent. Uhtred had fought Ubba, which meant it was Uhtred’s blood on the weapon in his hands. Not a significant amount, not deadly surely, but not a scratch either. And if Uhtred had fought in the battle afterward…</p><p>Terror like a vice curled itself around his heart and squeezed. “Father Beocca.” Alfred said, his voice tight with restraint as he tried to shove the terror to the back of his mind. </p><p>“Yes, Lord.” The good father stepped passed him and tilted his head.</p><p>“Will you go inquire after Uhtred’s health with Leofric for me? This axe has…a quantity of blood on its blade and…” He looked down at the awe he was still carrying.</p><p>Beocca’s face twitched into a brief, knowing smile that Alfred did not see, before smoothing again. “I will, Lord, but Uhtred is…a wily one, and if anyone could make it out of a fight with Ubba in good health and high spirits, it would be him.”</p><p>“Indeed.” </p><p>Father Beocca left. Alfred laid the axe down upon the table and took several long moments to center himself. He had more immediate things to focus on now that Ubba was dead. He would think of Uhtred when the man appeared or when news of him reached the camp. Not before.</p><p>_______________________________________</p><p> </p><p>It took five long days for Uhtred to appear at the camp. He was alone and on horseback, looking no worse for wear from travel and battle. Alfred’s heart, upon spotting his figure cutting through the crowds, gave a sharp lurch in his chest. </p><p>He took a deep breath and drew his detachment around himself like a cloak.  If he allowed himself to indulge, to greet Uhtred in warmth and friendship as he longed to, he knew that he would be unable to restrict himself. His…regard and thereby his actions would be unseemly. Instead, as always, he would hold Uhtred at arms length. </p><p>Uhtred came directly to him, not even stopping to greet Father Beocca as he passed. </p><p>“Lord,” He said with a wide, boyish smile. “I see Leofric among the men here. Has news of our victory at Cynuit already reached you?”</p><p>Alfred smiled, thin and mirthless. His heart was a jackrabbit in his chest. “Indeed it has, Uhtred. The Young Odda has gifted me with Ubba’s battle axe.”</p><p>The smile dropped away and Uhtred’s jaw clenched. “That axe should have been buried with Ubba, as is tradition among the Danes. Young Odda had no right to take it.”</p><p>Alfred blinked, brow furrowing. “Why would an axe be buried with a corpse?”</p><p>Uhtred stopped and tilted his head, as though he’d assumed Alfred knew the answer already. “Because, Lord, when a warrior dies in battle, with a weapon in his hand, his spirit goes to Valhalla, to Heaven. Ubba died in such a way. Removing his axe might jeopardize his journey to Valhalla, Lord.”</p><p>“And how would you know how Ubba died, Uhtred?” Alfred was pushing, he knew. Testing, like he couldn’t stop himself from doing, over and over, but he wanted to know if Uhtred would defend himself, his kill.</p><p>“I do not know what you have been told, Lord, but as Ubba died on my sword, I should think I was the only one to know. The only one alive anyway.” Uhtred’s back was rigid and his shoulder’s tense, but there was something wounded in his eyes.</p><p>Alfred felt an answering wound in his own chest. His lungs ached. He blinked and everything around him slowed to a sluggish haze. Men moved as though through syrup. </p><p>Before him, he could clearly perceive two paths. A choice, in this moment, two possible futures. </p><p>On the one path, the one he had so far been treading, he continued to be cold, to keep Uhtred at arm’s length. They will continue fighting each other and every one else. They will mistrust each other and wound each other. Each time, another small piece of their affection, their connection, will die, until Uhtred takes him hostage, tries to kill him and there he is, holding a sword to Uhtred’s throat in turn, hostile even on the brink of death. </p><p>This path made nausea rise in him alongside a pain that had nothing to do with his ailment.</p><p>On the other path, Alfred stepped forward, offered Uhtred a smile and clasped his arm. A new future unfurled before him, haloed in gold. He saw himself upon an <i>English</i> throne, a new crown upon his head, and Uhtred standing over his shoulder in studded leather armor. They were both smiling and Uhtred glanced down at him in such warmth, laying a hand on his shoulder, that Alfred, seeing it, felt winded. </p><p>He wanted that future with everything that he was. In the deepest parts of his very soul, he yearned for that golden light. </p><p>The choice was an easy one.</p><p>Alfred let his detachment slither away. He stepped forward, letting a smile stretch his mouth and light his eyes, and reached for Uhtred. “What I have heard is that you slew Ubba man to man, after setting the entire fleet alight. What I have heard is that you are to thank for saving Wessex, for saving England.”</p><p>That smile, that boyish all-encompassing smile was back on Uhtred’s face. His cheeks flushed a little, delighted and a little abashed. “I do not know that I saved England or Wessex, Lord. I merely did what was needed. You needed a victory at Cynuit and so I tried my best to give you one.”</p><p>Alfred exhaled, torn between the wide smile he could feel beginning to spread across his own face and the dull throb of guilt in the pit of his stomach. How had he so consistently misjudged this man? He was prideful, no denying it, but he was humble too, where it counted. He was not boasting and he had never been deceitful. Court life and Uhtred’s paganism had blinded Alfred for too long to the worth of Uhtred’s life and the weight of his word. </p><p>Well. No more. Now, Alfred had seen. Now, Alfred knew and he would take Uhtred for granted no longer. He would hold Uhtred close and damn seemliness. Together, they would built an united England and usher in a golden age of peace.</p>
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